


A Sight for Sore Eyes

by Tseecka



Category: Cosmere - Brandon Sanderson, Stormlight Archive - Brandon Sanderson
Genre: Character Study, Drabble, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Kaladin's Making Friends, Somehow, Spoilers for Words of Radiance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-11-01 17:53:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10926987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tseecka/pseuds/Tseecka
Summary: Kaladin was forced to admit that the world really was brighter when you were a lighteyes.----Kaladin deals with his newfound change in status and all the effects--emotional, physical, and otherwise--that it brings.





	A Sight for Sore Eyes

The former bridgeman, turned bodyguard, turned...whatever it was he was now shaded his eyes as he ducked out of the tower, the mid afternoon sun somehow shining _directly_ into them for all that it was almost precisely overhead. He could barely see the awkward, hasty salutes thrown his way through his squint; rather than pull his hand down to return them, he only nodded in return, and tried not to care about the whispers that followed him on his way through the makeshift camp.

It was something that hadn’t been seen in living memory, a phenomenon that only existed in legend. And now, the men of this camp had seen it--twice.

Kaladin didn’t know exactly what shade his eyes had become. Blue, he’d been told; clear, crystalline blue, lighter than any king, a light blue that spoke of the sky just before a highstorm, pale and ominous despite its beauty. He had been offered a mirror, but had turned it down. He didn’t need to see those traitor’s eyes shining in his own face; he didn’t need to look into a mirror and see the face of a stranger.

Despite not seeing it for himself, though, there was really no avoiding the truth of what had happened to him. The newfound deference with which he was treated, both by his own men and those who had up until very recently ranked above him, was evidence enough; but it was the storming  _light_ , streaming into eyes that suddenly lacked a protection they had had all his life, that really made it hit home.

Opthamology really wasn’t his area of expertise. Despite skillful surgeon’s hands, Kaladin’s father had never delved deeply into the study of the human eye; he lacked the education, the sterile work environment to learn without the fear of accidentally blinding someone. If Kaladin had gone to Kharbranth, studied under the master surgeons, perhaps he would have the technical knowledge and know-how to explain why the light felt so different falling into lightly coloured eyes than those that were dark, but he knew enough to know that, scientifically, it did. It wasn’t just a psychosomatic perception of change; it wasn’t only the sudden feeling of being thrust out into the open, exposed and unprotected, which made the surrounding daylight seem more intense.

Kaladin was forced to admit that the world really was brighter when you were a lighteyes.

The irony didn’t make him smile.

“No wonder the lighteyes always stomp around as though they’re glaring at everyone,” he muttered under his breath to Syl. The delicate spren danced about his shoulder, floating on the gentle breeze that wafted through the stones of Urithiru. She seemed...lighter, somehow; a strange observation to make of a creature that seemed to be utterly unaffected by the normal forces of gravitation and abrasion, yet there it was. She spun effortlessly, allowing herself to be buffeted to and fro with the gentle puffs of wind, in a gliding dance. As he spoke, however, she abandoned her pirouette to wisp over next to his face. Her skirts fell around her in a swirl as she matched his pace, walking through the air.

“What do you mean?”

Kaladin glanced sideways at her. Already, the combination of the light and the requisite squinting he had to do to combat it were beginning to affect him. He could feel the low, steady pulse of an oncoming headache, and groaned inwardly, trying to make a conscious effort to relax his shoulders and the muscles around his eyes.

“The light,” he explained, throwing a hand upwards--the one that wasn’t shading his eyes. “I never realized what a _blessing_ it could be to have dark eyes. Something about how they absorb the light, deflect it away from the sensitive areas--with these stupid things, I can hardly see. Everything’s so storming _bright_.”

Syl hummed, becoming a sinuous ribbon that twisted about in the air, making circles about his head. She seemed to do that more, lately; more effortlessly, too. He remembered the way the mist of her had shifted seamlessly in his hand, forming sword, spear, and shield as simply as a breath; it was as though she had unlocked another part of who she was, and was revelling in it the way a man who had mastered swimming would bob and dart and dive around in the waves. It made him smile, despite his discomfort. She re-coalesced on the other side of his head. “Have you considered a blindfold?” she teased. Kaladin pointedly rolled his eyes at her--it hurt, but it was worth it. “What? You’ve always said that the lighteyes seemed blind to the plights of others--maybe that’s why! You should speak to Navani. Perhaps the artifabrians have a solution.”

“Very helpful,” he groused, and turned his head away. Not quickly enough, however, for him to catch sight of the person walking towards him before he barrelled directly into them--her, he realized.

His breath caught for an instant as her auburn hair flashed into his vision, and he reacted almost without thinking, Lashing her hand to his as she tumbled backwards. He didn’t have much Stormlight, at the moment, but it was enough to keep her from falling awkwardly to the hard stone ground. With his own boots braced against the earth, they both managed to remain upright, and he tugged her back to standing with only a little difficulty.

Only after she cleared her throat--a deepening flush evident on her cheeks--and glanced pointedly down at their Lashed hands did he realize he had grabbed for her safehand, ensconced in a folded sleeve. He hurriedly dismissed the Lashing, dropping her hand and, like an idiot, rubbing his palm briskly against the thigh of his trousers as though he had dipped it in something forbidden.

Syl’s laugh was a tinkling chime, echoing all around his head as she circled it.

“Brightness Shallan,” Kaladin greeted her, sketching out half an awkward bow before remembering he didn’t, technically, have to do so any longer. When he rose from his strange bob, she was regarding him with a single eyebrow raised, her right hand deftly rebuttoning the sleeve on her left where he’d accidentally pulled it free. “I’m--sorry. I didn’t see you there.”

“Yes,” Shallan answered, her voice a thoughtful hum. “I’d noticed you stumbling your way around the camp. I’d say you had your head in the clouds, but you seemed rather intent on sinking into the rocks, instead.” She regarded him, faint tinges of colour still painting her cheekbones, hands clasped before her in the traditional Veden pose.

“Just...making sure I still have my boots,” Kaladin offered. “Keeping an eye on them at all times. Can’t be too safe, with you around.”

Shallan’s eyebrow arched, if possible, even higher. “And here I thought we were past all that. Or was running around in a dark chasm, minutes before a highstorm, with a chasmfiend on our tails somehow _not_ enough to banish those terrible first impressions?”

Kaladin coughed. _How wrong she is_ , he thought. His first impressions of her had all but vanished. If only he could have them back, to replace the much more awkward and improper second impressions he’d made that night. Not for the first time, he reminded himself of the causal, of his burgeoning friendship with Adolin, of the impropriety of developing any sort of feelings for the future wife of a future friend. “Unfortunately, the stone of the Shattered Plains left rather indelible impressions on the soles of my feet,” he retorted, though he left the words without heat. “I’m afraid it will be some time before those wear off.”

“Huh. I would have thought that your Stormlight could take care of that for you, Radiant.” The witty remark came easily to her, and Kaladin gritted his teeth. Lighteyes. They took everything for granted, everything in stride--just assumed that whatever dropped into their path was theirs, deserved and by right. _It’s not so easy for the rest of us_ , he thought, and shivered against the foreign weight of that title.

“I was born dark-eyed, _Brightness_ ,” he responded, emphasizing her old title rather than adopting the new. “I guess I’m still not used to everything being so _easy_ for me.”

He had meant it to be light-hearted, a match to her weightless wit, but the words sunk like a stone between them as soon as they had left his mouth. There was too much of reality to it. He wasn’t used to everything being so easy. The deference of the men, the respect he was paid--even riding the winds, Stormlight and Lashing and all the rest of it, felt as though it had just been dropped into his lap. He turned his eyes away, closing them and sighing heavily.

“I understand,” Shallan said, and he was surprised by how disappointed he felt to hear the jovial tease gone from her voice. It was replaced with something more serious, something older and more reserved--something that felt entirely unlike her. _Idiot. You don’t know her nearly well enough to know what she’s_ really _like,_ he reminded himself. “That’s actually--well, I was hoping I’d run into you. Less literally, of course. I have something for you.”

Kaladin looked up, curious despite himself, and wary of a joke. She was rooting around in her sleeve--her safepouch, he guessed--and soon withdrew a small, dark glass vial. This she held out to him, and he took it, reflexively, turning the cool smooth object over and over in his hand.

“I’ve noticed the way you’ve been glaring your way about the camp,” she went on, rebuttoning her sleeve once more and resuming her previous stance. “It seemed a little different from your usual--as though you were straining, against the light. You seem all right when you’re inside, or when it’s dim, but at midday--well, your face could curdle milk, and what’s worse is that I don’t even think you’re trying.” She quirked a small smile at him.

“I--came by those some time ago, before I quite understood what I was, what I could do. I needed to move about in a way that a brighteyed lady would typically find rather difficult; those were a solution offered to me.” Kaladin lifted the vial, holding it against the sky. It was annoying, to squint against the light, but he could make out a liquid moving about inside the glass. He looked back to Shallan, who moved closer to him. She seemed to hesitate a moment, then laid her hand on his arm. It sent a shock through him, and he was suddenly reminded of a fissure in the rock, of raging floods and sheeting rain and the warmth of another human body, pressed close to his and holding the fear and despair at bay.

He didn’t pull away.

“It just seemed like maybe your newly lightened eyes were making you uncomfortable,” she continued, and the smile she offered--sympathetic, commiserating--made it clear that she wasn’t only referring to the brightness of the sunlight. “If you ever need a break for a few hours, those eye drops should do the trick.”

“I...”

What could he say? He was touched--touched by her notice, by her compassion, by her generosity. He had never heard of such a solution before--but then, what lighteyes would want it known that they occasionally donned a disguise to walk among those below them? That wasn’t surprising, but still, he thought that it must have cost her a great deal.

Not for the first time, he realized that to many of these people, he was now an equal--if not greater. The lighteyes thought nothing of giving gifts of immeasurable value to one another, and he was one of them, now. It wouldn’t seem strange to a woman of her rank to bestow such a favour on him. Incongruously, he realized that--with the relative brightness of his eyes--it might even be something that could be considered _expected_. The thought was disconcerting, to say the least. Did she feel _obligated_ to aid him? To relinquish a valuable item, such as this, in order that he feel more comfortable? Possible motives, ulterior and otherwise, began to race in circles around his head as he stood, dumbly, and stared at his closed fist.

He was brought out of his reverie by the sudden and unexpected feeling of arms about his neck and a warm face, pressed into his shoulder. Thick warm hair tickled against his chin and nose, and, despite the pain, his eyes widened. Shallan had him in an embrace, held tightly--not like a lover, but like a dear friend, or a brother.

“I’m glad it was you,” she murmured into his shoulder, and pulled away to reveal her beaming smile.

“I--what?” Storms, he was an idiot. How did she manage to keep him so off-balance? He’d have to find a way to do something about that, before he managed to embarrass himself. “Why would you say that?”

She winked at him. “Because it means that, no matter how I mess up, I’ll never feel like the biggest idiot in the room.”

_I don’t belong either._

_I don’t know what I’m doing, or why I’m part of this._

_You’re my friend._

He heard every word of it, in the way her eyes met his and didn’t look away, in the smile and the wink and the wave she gave him as she turned away, in the way his skin warmed the glass and returned that warmth to his palm. Not wanting to waste any time, Kaladin ducked into the shade of a nearby stone formation, and uncapped the vial. He tipped a drop, two, into each eye, eyelids fluttering and blinking against the sudden liquid intrusion. They didn’t take long to work--he could feel it in the way the world suddenly dimmed, returning to the way he remembered it looking, although the headache still remained. He recapped the eyedrops and slipped the bottle into his pocket, stepping back out into the sun and finally giving himself leave to feel its warmth on his skin as he continued on his errand.

_Because it’s you. Because, no matter the colour of your eyes at any given time, you are_ you _, and we are lucky to have you_.

“Do you think she knows what she just said?” Kaladin asked of Syl, who was now floating in front of him, peering into his eyes--watching them change colour, he realized, and what a sight that must be.

“Idiot,” was all he got in return. A light breeze blew against him, blowing his hair into his eyes as though in reprimand, and he smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> I did a thing! I've really been wanting to write for the Cosmere fandom since I read Mistborn, but holy Harmony is it an intimidating prospect--there's so much detail, so much information, so much interconnectedness and theorizing and just SO MUCH HAPPENING. And I don't like getting things wrong, and I don't like not doing justice to an amazing source material, and let's be real--none of us can ever hope to hold a candle to Brandon Sanderson, so why even try? But then, a bunch of lovely folks on Tumblr, as well as my long-suffering and ever-supportive fiancee, gave me a bunch of words of encouragement and so here I am!
> 
> Please be kind? If there are any little details I missed or mistakes I made, I hope you'll forgive them, and if I made any really egregious errors, I hope you'll (gently) point them out to me. And most of all--I really, really hope you liked it!


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